


Wicked Little Town

by SuperNovaBaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Doctor Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNovaBaby/pseuds/SuperNovaBaby
Summary: Castiel Novak is a doctor in the rough frontier town of Dodge City, Kansas.  Broken and alone after the Civil War, he's waiting out what remains of his days sharing coffee with Bobby Singer and drinking too much rotgut whiskey.Dean Winchester is a deputy U.S. marshall who taught Wyatt Earp a thing or two about how to handle his side arm.  Together with his brother Sam, he tracks down the outlaws too deadly for Earp and company to handle.  All is fine until Dean is seriously injured on a hunt and spends weeks recuperating and getting to know the enigmatic Doctor Novak.  But who will end up healing who in this Wicked Little Town?





	1. Routines Disrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed; all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Part 1 of 9 and not all parts are explicit.
> 
> Content Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slash, violence, language, (eventually) smut

Location: Dodge City, Kansas  
Year: 1873

Chapter 1  
Doctor Castiel Novak was a man whose daily life was bounded by self-imposed routines. The unruly town of Dodge City, Kansas grew by the minute and was the last stop before homesteaders headed further west to try to claim their 40 acres. Castiel felt his routines helped contain some of the daily chaos of life on the frontier. 

Castiel woke precisely at 6am, ate exactly one egg he fried himself, and walked one lap through downtown before having one cup of strong coffee at Harvelle’s and then returning to the clinic below his tiny apartment. Castiel worked from 7am to 6pm at his clinic or doing home visits, and then he repeated his morning ritual in reverse. Except instead of coffee he sometimes drank rotgut whiskey, until the edges of his vision blurred. He did not earn much doctoring the trappers, miners, whores, and general variety of outlaws in the frontier town, and most of what he earned, he drank. He felt lucky, however, to have found himself in a position where he could continue to practice medicine. And the townsfolk were willing overlook the fact that his hands often shook after a long day and he sometimes (always) drank too much.

It was spring in Dodge City and the warmer weather brought trappers to town to trade and sell their wares. Each day the weather grew warmer and more loud, drunk men, ready to fight or bed anything in their path flooded the city streets. To be honest, some amount of drunken brawling was good for business, but too much was overwhelming. Happily for Castiel and the other residents of Dodge City, local man Bobby Singer had been appointed sheriff earlier that winter and he had managed to keep the trappers from instigating full anarchy. 

Castiel liked Bobby despite having only exchanged a handful of words with the man. They often drank coffee at the same time at Harvelle’s and after a few weeks, Bobby started drinking his coffee on the barstool next to Castiel. 

One day he finally said: “You the doc?”  
“Yes.”  
“Fought in the war?”  
“Yes. For the Union,” Castiel replied daring him to stay something. There were plenty of ex-confederate soldiers still spoiling for a fight on the frontier.  
“Alright then,” Bobby replied, got up, handed his mug back to the barkeep, and left.

In the six months since, they had barely said more than that. Castiel appreciated that Bobby knew when to shut up and was not the type of individual who felt the need to fill up silences with empty talk. But seeing Bobby daily and drinking coffee next to him had become one of Castiel’s routines. Which was why on this May morning when he sat down to his coffee and the sheriff was absent, he felt a nagging fear in the pit of his stomach.

*****

Castiel went to his clinic. He had gone so far as to ask if anyone at Harvelle’s had seen Bobby that morning, but they hadn’t. With nothing else to do he busied himself cleaning his instruments and organizing the various medicinal substances he stored in the back room. In the middle of restocking his supply bag with the various ointments he anticipated needing for tending to Starla and the other whores at Kitty’s Saloon, a loud crash startled him. It sounded like his door had been thrown off its hinges, the string of bells he kept on the knob clanging in protest at being so violently jostled. He grabbed one of the scalpels from the tray near him with his right hand. His heart pounded. He suspected it was some hooligans looking to score some laudanum or rob him blind. Castiel had been robbed before and he’d be damned if they’d take everything from him again. It had taken him months to replace everything. 

Castiel inched slowly toward the doorway leading from what served as his operating/examination room to his tiny front room. If they didn’t know he was here, he might maintain the element of surprise, he thought. Two - no three - no two - sets of boots scraped and scuffed along his floor. Castiel gripped the scalpel tighter.

“Dammit, Bobby,” said a panicked voice. “Help me get him set down.”  
“Not my fault your brother weighs as much as an elephant,” said a voice Castiel recognized as Bobby Singer’s. “Novak?! Doc Novak - you here Doc?” Bobby called.

Castiel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He stepped into the frame of the doorway. “I’m here.” Castiel said, taking in the scene unfolding in his front room. Sheriff Singer and a younger, tall man were struggling to get a third man, hanging limp between them, head down and legs dangling, onto a small upholstered bench.

“Oh thank God,” said the tall man, his eyes sweeping over Castiel.  
“No,” said Castiel.  
“No?” asked Bobby.  
“No - don’t put him there. Bring him back here to my table,” Castiel finished, shuffling out of the way.  
The two men maneuvered the third man onto the table. Castiel glanced over the man who had passed out from what seemed to be a combination of pain and blood loss. A bullet wound pierced the man’s left shoulder and left leg was a bloody and twisted mess below the knee. Castiel swore to himself and said a silent prayer to a god he no longer believed was listening that he would not have to take this man’s leg.  
“That bad, Doc?” Bobby asked during Castiel’s assessment. Castiel took a deep breath, looked Bobby in the eye and nodded once.  
“Please-” said the tall man, “please Doc, you gotta save my brother. Please.”  
Time seemed to slow down. Castiel felt the man’s pulse. It was weak and he was cold from blood loss. He checked the bullet wound. It had passed straight through, thank God, but needed cleaning and stitches. Castiel, turned, collected his instruments, a syringe, and started barking orders: “You-” he said to the tall man, “get his clothes off. Sheriff - get some water boiling.” Both men looked at him. “NOW!” he roared. Bobby and the tall man bolted into action.

Castiel stopped the bleeding in the man’s shoulder so he could work on the leg and hopefully save it. It was a compound fracture - a jagged white fragment of tibia protruded through his calf just below the knee. Even if he lost the leg this man was lucky, Castiel reasoned. A few inches higher and he’d have severed the femoral artery and he’d be dead where he fell. 

Castiel prodded gently at the area around the bone. The man groaned. The tall man made to grab Castiel’s hands from their work but Sheriff Singer held him back. “Get him out of here.” Castiel said. Bobby pulled the protesting brother back into the front room and Castiel got to work. 

*****

An hour later Castiel emerged from the back room completely drained. His patient was stable. The tall man read the exhaustion on Castiel’s features, a worried expression crossing his face. “He’s stable.” Castiel said and made for a chair across from the settee with the intent of throwing himself in it. Before he could do so, however, the found himself wrapped up in the tall man’s embrace.  
“Thanks Doc. You saved his life, I know it.”  
Castiel stiffened and did not return the hug. The tall man stuck out his hand.  
“Sam Winchester,” he said. “Thank you for saving my brother, Dean.”  
Castiel looked down at the offered hand and hesitated slightly before gripping it in his own. “Castiel Novak. And you’re welcome.” He released Sam’s hand quickly. “But I’m not sure I saved him just yet. The next couple of days are crucial. He’ll need to stay here and be watched for signs of infection.”  
Sam looked at Bobby. “You can stay with me, kid,” he said. “That way we both can check on your brother and give Doc here some relief.”  
“Much obliged, Bobby,” said Sam.  
Castiel felt himself sway, the adrenaline rush of emergency surgery leaving him utterly drained.  
“Whoa there, Doc,” Sheriff Singer said, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go clean up and get some rest and we’ll watch over Dean for now.”  
Castiel opened his mouth to protest. The man - Dean - was his charge now, his patient, and he would watch over him. But his hands had started shaking and he knew he needed an hour or two of rest or at least to flee to the privacy of his rooms upstairs before the panic gripped him. He nodded to Bobby. “Wake me in three hours,” he said and left the clinic for the stairway at the back of the building.

*****


	2. Let the Paper Remain Unwritten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean begins his recovery and vows revenge on Alistair and his crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV. Dean wakes up in a lot of pain and vows revenge on Alistair. But first, he needs to heal. Luckily Castiel is there to help. Oh and there's poetry.

Chapter 2:  
He woke to pain. Pain like he’d never felt before. It stole the breath from his lungs and conscious thought from his mind. He tried to reach for his gun and open his eyes simultaneously. A gentle, but firm hand pressed his shoulder down.

“Breathe. Just breathe,” someone said. “Sam - he’s waking up.” Whoever it was had a voice that sounded like rusty metal soaked in whiskey.

“Sam!” Dean said. Or rather, he tried to say. It came out more like a rasp. Dean opened his eyes and blinked. Two concerned faces looked down at him. He relaxed when he saw Sam’s worried puppy expression but the other face he didn’t know. 

“Sam - keep him still. I’ll prepare the medication,” Whiskey Voice said. A doctor maybe? That would explain why he was in so much pain. He swallowed and tried to speak again. 

“I’d be fine with a half bottle of whiskey and some chow,” Dean said. Sam smiled down at him, tears filling his eyes. 

“Dean. We weren’t sure - we thought maybe we’d lo-”  
“‘M fine, Sammy.” Dean interrupted. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.” He winced and curled in on himself as pain throbbed up his leg. His memory returned with a flash - the wagon wheel crushing down - the sound of his bone snapping - Alistair’s smirk. He turned his face to the side and vomited. Luckily Sam was there just in time with a bucket. When he turned back, Whiskey Voice was tourniquetting his right arm and injecting something into his vein.

“What -” Dean said.  
“Morphine.” Whiskey Voice said. “Relax. You need it.”  
“My leg?” Dean asked as the sedative flooded his system.  
“Doc Novak saved it.” Sam said.  
Dean looked at Whiskey Voice - Doc Novak. He worried Sam might be putting his normal optimistic spin on things. He needed the truth before the morphine kicked in.  
“I reset your leg and closed your wounds. But there’s still a risk of infection,” Novak stated. “For now, you need rest. And water.”  
“I’d prefer whiskey, Doc,” Dean quipped. The pain was dimming and he felt like he was floating.  
“Water. Drink,” Novak commanded, raising a cup to his lips.  
Dean finished the water, locking eyes with Novak. The doctor’s eyes were blue, a crystal clear, endless blue like the mountain lakes Dean had ridden past in the Colorado territory. Dean’s breathing slowed and he felt himself drifting off, falling into endless blue.

*****

Three days and several pain-medication-sleep cycles later, Dean woke to the smell of eggs and bacon. His mouth watered before he could open his eyes. He had to admit, the bed rest was helping him heal; his pain had been reduced to a dull throb in the background. He shifted to as much of a sitting position as he could manage from the cot Doc Novak had set up for him. 

“You’re gonna spoil me, Doc,” he said, smiling as Novak came through the door.  
“You need to eat, Dean,” Doc said simply, handing over a plate and sitting in the chair next to the cot. Dean took a fork from him after balancing the plate in his lap, away from his bandaged left arm. 

They ate in silence. Well, relative silence. Dean couldn’t help moaning his appreciation around a mouthful of bacon. 

Doc shot him a look. “Good?”  
Dean shoved the meat over to the side of his mouth. “I’m tellin’ ya, Doc - you got a way with cookin.’”  
“Dean - it’s just eggs and bacon.” Was that a blush creeping up the good doctor’s cheeks, Dean wondered. “And we talked about this - call me Castiel. Please.”  
“Castiel.” Dean tried the strange name. “That’s a mouthful after callin’ ya ‘Doc.’ What about if I call ya ‘Cas?’” he asked.  
“Very Well,” Castiel answered, rolling his eyes. But if Dean wasn’t mistaken, the color on his cheeks deepened slightly. Castiel reached out his hand to take the plate from Dean.  
“So. When do I get off house arrest Doc-er-Cas?” Dean asked.  
Castiel stood and titled his head to the side in an expression Dean was coming to know as the doctor’s ‘considering expression.’ “We need to start your rehabilitation and you need to heal enough to use the crutches; you know that,” he added.  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dean sighed. “Not that you’re not great company and all, but a fella used to the open range could lose his mind staring at these four walls.”  
“I could -” Castiel started. Dean watched him swallow and shuffle his weight from foot to foot. “I could read to you. After therapy. If you like.” He looked down as if afraid of Dean’s rejection.  
Dean smiled. “I’d like that,” he said softly. Castiel looked up and returned the smile with a tiny sideways quirk of his lip.  
“Alright then.” Castiel left the room.

*****  
Castiel returned early that evening and after supper insisted on torturing Dean by ‘checking’ his shoulder.  
“Son of a Bitch!” Dean yelled. Castiel released his grip on Dean’s shoulder.  
“My apologies, Dean, but I need to ensure that wound is healing properly.”  
Dean sucked in a breath. “Alright. Finish up.” He gritted his teeth.  
Castiel prodded the bullet wound and seemed satisfied with what he saw. He replaced the bloody bandage with a fresh one. “It’s healing well,” he commented as he wrapped Dean’s shoulder. “You’re moving it, right? Every hour or so, you do an arm circle?”  
“Yes, Cas. I’m doing the damn armed circles. Although I don’t see what that has to do with a goddamned bullet hole.”  
Castiel stepped back from his side and glared at Dean. “Oh I see,” he started. “I was unaware, Dean Winchester, that you went to medical school. And I was unaware that you spent two months in residency after medical school learning the latest injury rehabilitation techniques with Dr. Bauer of Austria.” He leaned closer to Dean and whisper-growled: “You will do the goddamned arm circles because you want to keep using that arm.”  
Dean swallowed. Normally he enjoyed provoking folks and getting a rise out of them. But Dean was quickly learning that Cas could be intense and a little scary when provoked.  
“Sam and Bobby will be back tomorrow,” Castiel said.  
Dean nodded. He couldn’t wait to see his brother again and was even more anxious to learn of any information they gathered on Alistar and his crew. Dean vowed to himself the minute he was able that he’d track that bastard down and repay him for every moment of pain he’d made Dean suffer.  
“Thanks, Cas,” he said, grateful for the reminder to focus on revenge instead of pain. “How about that reading you mentioned? I’d read myself, but I’ve already read the books you left here and my eyes are a little weary.”  
“All the books?” Cas asked, his voice betraying his surprise.  
“Yes, Castiel. I CAN read. Besides, I’d already read The Scarlet Letter and that windbag Melville's fish story.”  
“Alright, Dean, I’ll see what else I have.” Castiel turned and walked into the front room. A few moments later he returned with what looked like a small well-worn book in his hands. He sat down on the stool near Dean’s cot.  
“You might not like this,” Castiel started, “it’s poetry. My favorite poetry, in fact.” He looked down and away from Dean’s eyes and the book in his hands.  
“Cas,” Dean said and waited until those blue eyes met his. “I’d love to hear it.”  
Castiel smiled the tiny crooked smile and opened the book. 

“Song of the Open Road, by Walt Whitman,” he began.

“Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,  
Healthy, free, the world before me,  
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose...”

Dean’s mind began to wander as Castiel’s voice filled his ears. He closed his eyes and pictured the prairie; the open range. He missed it, his heart ached for it.

“I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,  
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,  
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,  
I think whoever I see must be happy.” 

Castiel continued the timbre of his voice rising and falling with the verses of the poem until Dean felt as though he were in a hypnotic trance.

“Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!  
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!  
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!  
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law. 

Camerado, I give you my hand!  
I give you my love more precious than money,  
I give you myself before preaching or law;  
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?  
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?” 

Castiel’s voice faded to a whisper for the last lines. Dean felt himself drifting off to sleep.  
‘’S Nice, Cas,” he murmured. “Thank you.”  
“Shh, Dean.” Dean felt Castiel’s hand brush over his forehead. “Rest.”

*****


	3. Vengeance is Hungry Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is annoying. Castiel loses his patience with his patient. Smut happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut Warning. This chapter gets explicit. You've been warned :).

Chapter 3

Dean Winchester was the most infuriatingly stubborn man Castiel had ever met. It had been three weeks since his brother and Sheriff Singer drug him through Castiel’s door. It felt like a lifetime. Dean did not enjoy being temporarily disabled, and he did not restrain himself from showing Castiel his displeasure. He pushed his injured leg’s limits daily and nearly every attempt to put more weight on it than he should ended in him falling and Castiel having to pick him up. Dean absolutely refused to clean up after himself, although Castiel didn’t see why his leg would prevent him from tidying up a bit. At the least he could pick up and stack the dishes and books littered around his bed, Castiel reasoned. He ate like a horse. A horse with an empty leg. And he snored. Dean Winchester snored so loudly that he kept Castiel awake at night despite long days on rounds and the fact that his bedroom was a full floor above Dean’s and on the opposite side of the building.

“Cas - Cas!!” Dean called from the examination room he had transformed into his bedroom. “Did you get the pie?” he asked the second Castiel passed through the doorway.  
“Yes, Dean. I remembered the pie,” Castiel answered, as though Dean would have let him forget it.  
“Awesome.” Dean stood up from the chair he had drug from Castiel’s front room to the examination room and carefully leaned the left side of his body onto one of his crutches. Dean hobbled over to Castiel and without another word, snatched the package from Harvelle’s out of his hands. After returning to his seat, he wasted no time tearing into the package and shoveling the pie into his mouth. Castiel was surprised he’d even bothered to accept the fork Castiel had handed him.  
“How can you possibly be hungry?” Castiel asked. “We ate lunch two hours ago.”  
Dean shrugged. “I dunno. Healing is hungry work,” he said around a mouthful of pie.  
Castiel sat and watched Dean eat. It was disgusting. Thankfully, the inappropriate noises Dean made when eating pie were interrupted by the door bells jangling.  
“Doc?” called Sheriff Singer, “you here?”  
“We’re back here Bobby!” Dean yelled.  
Sheriff Singer and Sam Winchester crowded into the small space. They looked more road weary and rumpled than usual. And a bit dehydrated, thought Castiel. He stood to fetch the men some water.  
“So,” Dean started, “what’s the news? Did you find them?”  
Sam looked at his hat, held in his hands and then back to his brother. He shook his head. “But we got another lead,” Sam said. “Word is Alistair’s gang has been spotted up near Durango.”  
“Durango?!” Dean yelled. He started to stand up and dust the pie crumbs off his chest. Dean hoisted himself onto his crutches. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”  
Sheriff Singer sighed. “Dean, you’re in no shape for that kind of ride and you know it.”  
“But I’m up and about, Bobby - see?” he asked flourishing the right crutch.  
“And how do you think you’re gonna get and stay on a horse, ya idjit? You think me and Sam need to be worrying about you while we’re looking for Alistair?” Singer bellowed.  
“Dammit, Bobby,” Dean replied. “I ain’t no good at being useless.” He sat back down.  
“Dean,” Sam started, moving toward his brother. “Let us rest up and go check it out. If we find him, we can send word back.” Sam glanced at Castiel. “And if Doc says you’re up for it, you can ride out and shoot him yourself,” Sam finished.  
Castiel flinched at the deadly promise in Sam’s voice. He knew the Winchester family had history with Alistair’s gang that went beyond Dean’s injuries. Even though he’d hinted he’d like to hear the full story, however, Dean had not been forthcoming on the details.  
Dean nodded, his green eyes turned to steel. “Alright, but I’m gonna hold you to that.” He looked at Castiel. “Doc?” he asked.  
Castiel swallowed. “I don’t condone violence, Dean.” Castiel’s hands began to shake. He clasped them behind his back. “But if you are healed enough, I won’t stop you,” he finished.  
Dean smiled. Castiel shivered. There was nothing kind or gentle in that expression; it was the expression of a predator, intent on capturing its prey.  
Dean shifted to stand up again, leaning on his crutch. “Anyways...how about we head down to Harvelle’s for some grub? You two look like you could use a good meal.”  
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Really, Dean? You just virtually inhaled a slice of pie.”  
“What can I say, Cas? Vengeance is hungry work,” Dean finished, his voice moving from jovial to dire in a single sentence.

*****

Three days after their dinner with Sheriff Singer and Sam, Castiel was cleaning his tools and restocking his kit when he heard an unholy crash from the back of the examination room. Panic rose in his chest when he heard Dean shout. He rushed from his front office to the back room to find Dean sprawled, face down at the foot of the stairs that led to his apartment. Castiel crouched down and helped Dean roll over. He didn’t appear to be injured. Dean sat up quickly and smirked at Castiel. He held one of Castiel’s journals in his hand.  
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Castiel roared, surprising himself with the strength of his ire.  
“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said. “You never let me up there or talk about your past. I just wanted to get to know you better.”  
Castiel pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and pinched himself. He reminded himself to breathe. He mentally counted backwards from twenty. Castiel reached down and helped hoist Dean to his feet, snatched the journal from his hand, and handed him his crutch. Counting hadn’t helped. He leaned in to Dean’s space and glared at him.  
“You should show me some respect,” he said.  
Dean’s eyes went wide and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t move back from Castiel.  
“You, Dean Winchester, are insufferable,” Castiel continued. “I healed you. I care for you. I feed you. And you push and push and push,” Castiel punctuated each ‘push’ with a poke to Dean’s chest. “What more do you want from me Dean?”  
“This,” Dean said, and leaned forward sealing his lips to Castiel’s.  
Castiel forgot how to breathe. He froze as Dean placed a hand on the back of his head, drawing him in. Dean noticed he wasn’t reciprocating, dropped his hand and leaned back a few inches.  
“Did I read that wrong?” Dean asked quietly.  
Castiel inhaled. He dropped the journal. “No,” he exhaled and grabbed Dean’s face between his hands. He crashed his mouth into Dean’s, parting his lips to lick and nip along Dean’s mouth. Dean gasped and Castiel wasted no time in shoving his tongue in to get a taste of this annoying, beautiful, tempting man.  
Dean moaned and threaded his right hand through Castiel’s hair as Castiel mapped his mouth with his tongue. Castiel let him pull his head back slightly, both men panting.  
“Damn, Cas,” Dean said. “Looks like I finally got a rise out of you.” He winked lasciviously and nodded at the front of Castiel’s trousers.  
Castiel rolled his eyes. He released his hold on Dean’s head and gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in. “Are you sure you’re ready for this Dean?” he asked, his voice dropping to its lowest register. He pushed his hips against Dean’s. Dean threw back his head and moaned. Castiel took the opportunity to mouth and suck at the long column of Dean’s neck while he rubbed himself against Dean’s hip.  
“I think it’s time I show you my bed,” Castiel growled against Dean’s throat. Dean moved toward the stairs so fast he dropped his crutch and ended up half falling onto Castiel.  
“Son of a Bitch!” Dean yelled. “Sorry, Cas, but you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”  
Castiel pushed his shoulder more firmly under Dean’s, helping him take the weight off of his still healing left leg. He steered him toward the first step. He locked eyes with Dean.  
“Why don’t you show me then?” he said.

*****

Some of their passion cooled with getting Dean up the stairs. It was not an easy feat. Dean outweighed Castiel by a good twenty pounds, and had probably gained even more with how much he’d been eating the past few weeks, Castiel mused.  
After passing through the door, Castiel turned and locked it. He scanned the room before walking back to Dean. Dean hadn’t messed up Castiel’s orderly space much. Castiel could tell he’d run his hand over the books on the shelf and had plucked one of his journals from its spot, of course.  
“I didn’t open it, Cas. Well I did - but once I realized what it was, I didn’t read it,” he said. “I reckon you’ll tell me your story when you’re ready,” he continued, “and maybe I’ll tell you mine.”  
Castiel considered this, and tilted his head to the side. “I’d like that,” he said quietly. “When I’m ready.” He stepped closer to Dean, a scant inch between their bodies. “But for now, Dean Winchester, you started something.” Castiel tilted his head up toward Dean’s face. “Are you prepared to finish it?”  
“Yes,” Dean answered simply. He pulled Castiel to him with his good arm and steadied himself by holding onto Castiel’s hip with his bad one. Castiel leaned forward and captured Dean’s lips in a gentle kiss. They traded kisses and pawed at each others’ clothing. Dean pulled the tie from around his neck and let it fall to the floor. Castiel looked down at Dean’s perfect fingers unbuttoning his shirt. He reached out to start on Dean’s buttons. He felt more vulnerable now in this room. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he felt Dean pause in kissing him, his hands gentling Castiel’s. Dean murmured “Shh, shh, Cas, it’s okay. Let me.”  
Castiel dropped his hands to let Dean finish unbuttoning his own shirt. Dean shrugged out of his suspenders and Castiel helped him get out of the sleeves. Castiel stood before Dean, his heart pounding as the other man drank in the sight of him bared to the waist.  
Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s chest, feeling Dean’s heartbeat racing in time with his own. He brushed gentle fingers to Dean’s injured shoulder, tracing the scar. Dean inhaled sharply as Castiel leaned forward to let his lips follow his fingers, tweaking Dean’s other nipple as he mouthed over his shoulder. Castiel moved down to Dean’s nipple, taking it in his mouth, licking and biting it gently between his teeth. Dean growled at that and shoved his hips forward to rut against Castiel and mouth at Castiel’s neck. Castiel didn’t recognize the keening noise he made as Dean sucked a mark into his collarbone. He thought he surely would burst into flame with how hot his skin felt. He was painfully hard and so was Dean judging by the way he could feel Dean pushing against him.  
Castiel lost himself in the feeling of kissing and rutting against Dean. He didn’t notice Dean had been trying to get his attention until he felt a yank at the back of his hair. Castiel allowed Dean to pull his head up from where he’d been sucking his neck and glared at him. “What?!” he demanded.  
“Cas, my leg -” Dean started. “I think I need to lie down,” he finished, glancing in the direction of Castiel’s bed.  
Of course, Castiel thought. They’d gotten so lost in each other he’d forgotten Dean’s leg was still healing and he couldn’t bear weight on it for long.  
“My apologies, Dean,” he said. He helped Dean hobble over to the bed. Castiel pulled down the blankets and helped ease Dean’s weight down to a sitting position. Dean shifted to lie down on his back.  
“‘C’mere,” he said, beckoning Castiel to join him. Castiel stood back from Dean and slowly unbuttoned the top of his trousers. Dean licked his lips as Castiel slid the trousers and shorts from his body, pushing them down over one hip at a time until he stepped out of the material pooled at his feet.  
Dean shifted up onto his right elbow his eyes fixed on Castiel’s groin.  
Castiel stroked himself, once, twice, moaning, and locking eyes with Dean.  
“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean swore. “Get over here so I can do that.”  
Castiel laid himself down opposite Dean. Dean turned on his side and kissed Castiel, trailing his left hand down Castiel’s chest to his hip. Castiel fumbled with the button on Dean’s trousers. Once unbuttoned, Dean rolled onto his back and lifted his hips so Castiel could help him shed the rest of his clothing.  
Castiel swung his leg over Dean’s right leg. He sat back on his heels and stared down at Dean’s cock. His mouth watered. He looked back at Dean who was watching him with hooded eyes, his chest heaving. Castiel reached down and gripped Dean loosely, stroking him from root to tip. Dean gasped and arched his back, pushing himself further into Castiel’s palm. Dean grabbed his bicep with his right hand and pulled Castiel down so that he could kiss him. Castiel released his hold on Dean to catch himself with his hand on Dean’s chest. Castiel shuddered and gasped as their cocks brushed against one another. Castiel felt Dean wrap his arm around his hip and squeeze his ass. He moaned into Dean’s mouth and Dean pumped himself faster against Castiel. Castiel covered Dean’s mouth with his hand. “Lick,” he said. Dean took Castiel’s thumb in his mouth, nipping at the pad before sucking, hollowing his cheeks around it. Castiel threw his head back, his mind thinking of the other things Dean could do with his sinful mouth. He released Castiel’s thumb with a pop and began licking broad stripes across his palm. Castiel gripped them together in his wet palm, squeezing and pulling.  
Dean moaned. “Jesus, that feels good, Cas,” he said. Castiel growled as Dean’s hand on his ass tightened. Then Dean squeezed his left hand around Castiel’s gripping their cocks. Castiel rutted frantically into their hands; he was losing himself. Dean felt so good against him. He didn’t realize he was moaning out “So good, so good” with his eyes closed in an endless stream until Dean slid the hand on his ass up to his hair, tugging lightly but enough so that Castiel opened his eyes to look at Dean.  
“Cas - let go,” Dean said. “You can let go; I got you.”  
Castiel thrust himself through their joined hands two maybe three more times, arched his back, cried out “Dean” and came, spilling himself over Dean and their hands.  
“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled and followed him.  
Castiel collapsed into a boneless heap next to Dean. He was covered in come and desperately needed a wash, but he was too tired to care. Castiel watched as Dean’s breathing slowed and he stopped gasping for air. Castiel’s heart continued to hammer against his chest as he watched Dean come down from his high. He was beautiful. Castiel did not deserve someone like Dean, he thought. Not with what he’d done. He shuffled to the side to put a bit of space between them.  
Dean smiled lazily and opened one eye. “Hey, where do you think you’re going, Doc?”  
He reached out and pulled Castiel back to his chest. “I’m just getting comfortable,” Dean said.  
Castiel sighed and relaxed into the space between Dean’s chest and shoulder. Well, maybe he could have this moment, anyway. 

*****


	4. I don't know how to do 'Us'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's nightmares reveal some of his past with Alistair. He struggles with his feelings for Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for PTSD and traumatic memories of extreme violence.

Chapter 4:

 

It was happening all over again and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. He struggled, kicking and flailing, but no matter what he did he couldn’t free himself from the strong arms holding him. His ten-year old body was powerless against Alistair’s man. He watched as Alistair dragged his mother into the house by her hair. He saw his father, battered and bloody, try to go to her aid. He watched Alistair turn and look at him, smirking, as he shot Dean’s father between the eyes.   
“NOOOOOO!” he wailed. Alistair turned toward him.   
“Just for that, boy, I’m going to make you watch. I’m going to make you watch your mother burn before I kill you. And then I’m going to make you watch while I cut your little brother apart piece by piece,” Alistair sneered.  
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Dean yelled.  
Alistair laughed. “Bring the boy in for a closer view, Hannity.”  
The man holding Dean grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck, lifting him closer to the house. He set Dean down and then forcibly turned his head toward his house.  
Dean heard Sam crying behind him.   
“Sam - Sam!” Dean called, trying to determine his location. The man - Hannity - slapped him across the face.  
Dean’s head spun but the man made him watch as Alistair tied his mother to her rocking chair, her eyes wild and calling for her boys. Alistair took a torch to the curtains she had made, to the cabin walls, and finally to the hem of her dress. Alistair stepped through the doorway of Dean’s home and closed the door on his mother. Dean heard his mother’s screams and Sam’s cries and the crackling sound of the fire consuming his childhood.   
Dean screamed. And then someone was shaking the living daylights out of him. 

“Dean-Dean!” Cas was calling his name and shaking him by the shoulders. “Dean - wake up,” Cas said. “Wake up!”  
Dean’s chest heaved and he gasped for breath. “I’m awake, Cas. I’m awake.” Dean grasped Cas’s forearms. “I’m alright, Cas.”   
Cas sat back but he looked spooked. He let Dean sit up and scooted back to his side of the narrow bed. Cas tilted his head to the side and although he said nothing, Dean heard the question.  
“I don’t want to talk about it Cas,” Dean said.  
Cas just stared at him. Dean sighed. There really was no reasoning with him when he did that.  
“I had a bad dream,” Dean said.  
“I gathered,” Cas deadpanned.  
Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “My Ma and Pa were homesteaders,” he began. “They moved to Kansas when I was a kid to stake their claim. Sam was born the next spring.” Dean met Cas’s eyes and then looked down. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Everything was fine until the same railroad company that tried to get the homesteaders to the west in the first place decided they wanted our land.”  
Cas didn’t say anything but he nodded.  
“I musta been maybe 8 - 9 when the men first started comin’ around,” he continued, “trying to get my Pa to sell.” Dean smiled wryly. “But Pa was as stubborn as a damned mule. We had worked that land, he said, and we shouldn’t have to give it up because some bigshot in New York decided to lay track through it.” Dean took a deep breath. “When they couldn’t buy us out, they started to threaten. They killed our dog - left him on the porch for little Sammy to find.” Dean shook his head. “Bastards. And then - then they sent him.”   
Dean looked at Cas and he felt his eyes well up and tears start to slide down his cheeks. “Alistair,” he explained. “That sick son of a bitch killed my parents, Cas.”  
Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and held him while he cried. He was so angry he shook with it. When Dean could breathe again he said quietly to Cas’s shoulder, “Sammy and I only made it because Bobby saw the smoke from his place and showed up with a posse ready to put out the fire.”  
Cas held Dean until he calmed. He pulled back to look at Dean but didn’t stop stroking his back.  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said.  
Dean nodded. He wiped the back of his hand across his face. He looked down again. Dean could count on one hand the number of people outside of Sam and Bobby who he’d told about his past.   
Dean turned away from Cas. He snagged his discarded pants with a toe and drug them close enough to grab. He busied himself with struggling to get his pants on.  
“Anyways,” Dean said and cleared his throat. “I should probably let you get cleaned up.”  
Dean eased himself up, putting his weight on his good leg. Cas came around the side of the bed and handed him his crutch. He didn’t say anything. Dean nodded and took the crutch, making his way toward the stairs.

*****

Dean didn’t know how to handle this. He was accustomed to chance encounters and lucky happenstances when it came to people he was attracted to. He was ill-equipped to deal with living with someone he was attracted to, add to that he was essentially physically dependent on Cas and yeah, Dean was a bit of an emotional mess. Cas, God bless him, didn’t push. After their time together and Dean’s revelation, he simply went on about his business. And that was almost harder for Dean to account for. He wanted Cas, of course. He replayed the scenes of Cas’s debauched face - hair standing on end and lips swollen after Dean’s kissing and mussing and the sound of Cas saying his name when he came nearly every night, gripping himself and moaning low into his pillow. He toyed with the idea of climbing the stairs and indulging in some fantasies he’d been picturing, would Cas be willing. But the fact that Cas had seen Dean at his worse and hadn’t run screaming - well Dean just didn’t know what to do with that. He was used to being the stable one, the one who kept it together and kept fighting, for Sam. So he did nothing. Real healthy, Winchester, he thought to himself. 

In the meantime, he and Cas settled into a bit of a routine. They started eating breakfast at Harvelle’s and checking for word from Bobby and Sam. They walked a bit after that before Cas went on his rounds - as much as Dean could handle. And he got stronger. He started trying to clean up his space and he read every book Cas had. Dean’s favorite part of the day was evening, after dinner, when he and Cas would play cards or read and drink a whiskey in front of the fire. He especially loved the nights when Cas would drink a few too many and Dean would have to help him to the stairs. Cas just looked so vulnerable those nights and all Dean wanted to do was take him in his arms and hold him. 

It was one of those nights when Cas broke. He must’ve had a tough day because he drank more than usual, which was a considerable amount. As he drained the rest of the bottle they’d been sharing, he swore and threw it onto the stone of the fireplace, shattering it into a hundred pieces.   
“Hey - Cas - watch it - ” Dean started.  
“Why should I, Dean?!” Cas demanded. “What difference does it make?”  
Dean cleared his throat as he took in Cas’s swaying form. “I think it’s time for bed, Cas.”  
Cas fixed him with his glare - well the best he could when he was likely seeing double. “Oh really, Dean,” he whispered, “you think so?”  
“Yeah, yeah, Doc, I do.”   
“Why don’t you help me then?” Cas asked and there was a challenge in his voice.   
Dean moved to help Cas up from the chair. Cas immediately shoved his mouth to Dean’s.  
“Whoa, whoa there cowboy, slow down,” Dean started, pulling out of Cas’s space.  
Cas groaned his frustration.   
“Cas - don’t get me wrong, man,” Dean started, “I want to.” Dean looked at Cas’s lips, ripe and full. “I really, really want to, but I-”  
“You what, Dean?” Cas spat. “You think I’m just here when you want me? You think I’m just yours to use when you feel like it?”  
Dean shook his head. “No, no, of course not.”   
“Then what?!” Cas demanded.  
“I don’t -” Dean started. “I don’t know how to do this.”  
“Do what?”  
“Us,” Dean answered.   
Cas leaned back as if he’d been slapped. “Us?” he asked.  
“Yeah, Cas - ‘us.’ This means more to me than just healin’, if you know what I mean.”  
Cas nodded. “I see,” he said, and Dean could tell he was trying for serious but he slurred his words and let his body fall limply against Dean’s.  
“Let’s get you to bed,” Dean said.   
“Alright, Dean,” Cas answered.

*****


	5. You Know How Broken I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean plays his hand. Castiel calls his bluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for smut and mention of violent injury. These two jerks were supposed to wait to do this, but they just couldn't. Seriously, they are very naughty.

Chapter 5

 

Castiel woke in his bed but he didn’t completely recall getting there. His head ached and his throat was parched. He still wore his clothes from the day before except his tie and shoes. He shifted and felt warmth at his back and the weight of an arm around his waist. Dean, he thought, and smiled despite the pain. He opened one eye to see Dean had set a glass of water near his side of the bed. Carefully, so as not to wake Dean, he moved slowly and brought the water to his lips, drinking deeply.

Castiel settled back down next to Dean. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment when he recalled his behavior the previous evening. He wasn’t sure why Dean had curled up with him last night, but he was not in a mood to question it at that moment. It had been a long day of rounds and house visits and near the end of the day, he was called in to doctor those hurt in a bar fight. Castiel sucked in a breath, remembering. The youth, no more than seventeen, was dead by the time he arrived. Gut shot, he’d bled out waiting for Castiel. Not that Castiel could have saved him had he been faster. But looking at the dead boy’s face and vacant eyes brought up ghosts Castiel thought he’d buried. 

Castiel shivered despite Dean’s body heat at his back. Dean stirred at that and tightened his arm around Castiel’s waist. Dean nuzzled the back of his neck. He couldn’t help moving closer, stretching his neck to give Dean access. “Cas,” Dean murmured into the space behind his ear. Dean moved his hand from Castiel’s waist to his hip. Castiel gasped when he felt Dean hard and moving against him. He arched his back, pushing his backside more fully against Dean. Dean moaned. Castiel turned in Dean’s arms to face him; he wanted Dean to be awake for this. He brought his hand to Dean’s neck and stroked his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone. 

Dean opened his eyes and smiled lazily. “Mornin’ Cas,” he drawled.  
“You slept in my bed,” Castiel said.  
“Was worryin’ about you,” Dean offered. “Besides, your bed is more comfortable than that damned cot.” Dean pushed his hips against Castiel causing him to gasp.  
“You didn’t seem interested in this last night,” Castiel said, breathlessly.  
“Oh I was mighty ‘interested,’ but I’m a gentleman, Cas. I didn’t wanna take advantage.”  
Castiel raised an eyebrow and fixed Dean with a look, “You’re a gentleman?” he asked.  
Dean nodded. “And...the other thing - ‘Us’...?” Castiel asked.  
Castiel watched Dean swallow. “You know how broken I am, Cas,” he said, “and you didn’t run; you waited. And after last night...well, I reckon you’re a bit broken, too.”  
Castiel looked down. Dean brought his hand to his chin and tilted his face up so that he could meet his eyes.  
“I’m all in, if you are,” Dean said.  
Castiel answered by leaning forward and gently pressing his lips to Dean’s. Dean kissed him back. They traded kisses until both were breathless and Dean pulled Castiel to him again with his left arm.  
“Your arm’s getting stronger,” Castiel said.  
“Yeah,” Dean said, “something else is getting stronger too.” He pushed his leg between Castiel’s, and rubbed himself against Castiel’s cock.  
Castiel groaned but managed an eye roll.  
“Dean,” he said.  
“Yeah?”  
“Shut up and fuck me,” Castiel said. 

Dean moaned and Castiel licked his lower lip and then drew Dean’s tongue out. Castiel sucked on Dean’s tongue and let him push him onto his back so that Dean was lying on top of him. He wrapped his leg around Dean and thrust up as Dean thrust down. Castiel slipped his hand under the waistband of Dean’s trousers and grabbed a handful of his ass. Dean moved to suck Castiel’s throat and began unbuttoning his shirt. With each button, Dean tasted and teased the skin revealed. He slipped the shirt from Castiel’s shoulders and ran his hands over his chest. Castiel gasped a breath as Dean bent to lick and suck first one nipple and then the other until Castiel felt like he would explode if Dean didn’t touch him. Castiel clawed at Dean’s back and shoulders. Dean continued to work his way down, dipping his tongue into Castiel’s navel. He locked eyes with Castiel as he unbuttoned his trousers. Castiel lifted his hips as Dean pulled the fabric from his body, freeing his aching cock. Dean stared down at him. Castiel raised himself up on his elbows. Dean lowered himself and taking Castiel’s cock in his hand, he ran his tongue around the head. Castiel collapsed back onto the bed and arched his back, groaning. Dean took more of Castiel into his mouth and began a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down and hollowing his cheeks, his hand working in tandem with his mouth, his tongue driving Castiel mad with need. 

When Castiel felt his cock bump the soft palate of the back of Dean’s throat he reached down and threaded his hand through Dean’s hair, gripping a fistful. Dean moaned around his cock and Castiel had to concentrate not to spend himself right then. Castiel felt Dean’s hand slide up his chest to his neck until Dean placed two fingers against his bottom lip. He sucked Dean’s fingers into his mouth and ran his tongue all around them. Dean moaned again and Castiel felt him pull off.  
“Jesus Christ, Cas,” he swore. Dean ripped the front of his trousers open with his free hand, freeing himself while Castiel continued to suck his fingers. He shucked his pants off and pulled his fingers from Castiel’s mouth. He sucked Castiel down again and pushed his knees apart. Dean traced his hole with a wet fingertip. He pulled off and looked at Castiel, waiting. Castiel nodded. Dean licked a stripe up Castiel’s cock and pushed a finger in. He worked Castiel open while sucking him.  
Castiel felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Dean had worked up to three fingers when he brushed against his prostate. Castiel tried to warn Dean, but he shot so hard he didn’t have time to do anything but ride out his orgasm. “Dean!” he shouted at his peak. Dean swallowed some but then he pulled off and stroked Castiel through it. Dean leaned up and planted a kiss on Castiel’s slack lips.

“Damn, Cas, that was about the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.  
Castiel sighed happily. He glanced down at Dean. He was so hard it looked painful. Castiel wiped his seed off his belly and reached down to stroke Dean. Dean shivered as Castiel coated him and pulled him between his legs, positioning him. He pushed into Castiel slowly. Despite his post-orgasm relaxation and the preparation, it burned and stretched and felt almost too-much. But then Castiel looked at Dean’s face. He would later swear Dean’s face was radiant at that moment, shining and glorious. Dean bottomed out with a sigh. He leaned down to kiss Castiel, open-mouthed, tongue demanding.  
“Dean, move,” ordered Castiel. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and unlikely to come again, but he loved the feeling of Dean inside him and wanted nothing more in that moment than to watch him lose control.  
Dean groaned, pulled out slowly and then pushed back in, just as slowly. “My God, Cas, you feel amazing,” he growled, working into slow rhythm that left them both breathless. Castiel arched his back and wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist, pushing his heel into his ass, urging Dean to go faster.  
“Harder,” he demanded.  
“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean swore and thrust harder and faster into Castiel. He felt his cock valiantly try to rise when Dean nudged his prostate. He flexed his legs and dug his nails into Dean’s back. Dean rode him hard, his rhythm shot to hell. Castiel watched his face as Dean held his breath and screwed his eyes shut. He concentrated on squeezing Dean’s cock. That was all it took and Dean was coming, swearing and cursing in his bliss.  
“Fuck, Cas!” Dean swore and collapsed on top of Castiel. Castiel felt his breath as he panted against his neck, coming down from his high. He embraced Dean loosely, soothing his hands up Dean’s back and releasing his legs, dropping them back onto the bed. When Dean had caught his breath he pushed up and rolled off of Castiel, flopping back to lie next to him.  
Dean eyed Castiel, smiling his lazy smile, his eyes already sliding shut. “That was…” he said.  
Castiel yawned in sympathy and felt sleep start to tug at him. “Yes, Dean, it was.” he said. “Go to sleep, Dean.”  
“Alright, Cas,” Dean yawned.

*****

Two days later, Castiel was still sore as he and Dean walked from breakfast at Harvelle’s to the general store. He smiled to himself, remembering. He hadn’t been expecting Dean to come crashing into his orderly little life, but as he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he felt grateful he had. 

There was a spring in Dean’s step and he was down to one crutch as they traversed the rickety boardwalk. Dean reached the door first and swung it open, holding it for Castiel. He winked and smiled at Castiel. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks at Dean’s open flirting. He really needed to be more careful, Castiel thought. He’d have to admonish Dean later. At that thought, Castiel felt a stirring in his loins he had to mentally will down.

He could tell there was news waiting for them by the look on the clerk’s face. Dean read it too the moment he stepped through the doorway. Castiel swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Well?” Dean asked the clerk, making his way to the counter.

“Telegram came in for you last night,” he said. He reached down for an envelope he had set aside.  
Dean handed Castiel his crutch so he could lean against the counter, freeing his hands. He tore the envelope open with shaking hands. He looked at Castiel. “They found him, Cas.” Dean said, his voice low. He handed the telegram to Castiel.  
“I have to go Cas,” he said.  
Castiel nodded, trying not to let the tears filling his eyes spill out. He set his jaw and looked up to meet Dean’s eyes.  
“I’m going with you,” he said.  
Dean opened his mouth to argue but Castiel fixed him with a glare that brokered no argument.  
Dean nodded.  
“We rendezvous with Sam and Bobby at Fort Garland in three days.” 

*****


	6. Wanted: Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel meet up with Sam and Bobby. They make plans to ambush Alistair. Dean shares how he got the injuries that brought him to Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence, language, and what I'll call "diet" smut or "smut light."

Chapter 6: Wanted: Dead or Alive 

Dean had tried reasoning with Cas. He tried yelling. He tried bribing him with unspeakable favors. When none of that worked, he tried begging. No matter how much Dean insisted, Castiel refused to carry a gun. 

“But, Cas,” Dean said, “I can’t guarantee your safety; at least take one to protect yourself.”  
Cas just looked at him. “I’m a doctor, Dean. I swore an oath to ‘do no harm’ and I do not take oaths lightly.”  
“C’mon, Cas, I think given the situation the Hippocratic Oath is more of a suggestion, right? I mean you shouldn’t set yourself up for harm, right? Dean cajoled.  
Cas fixed Dean with his “I’m done” face. Dean sighed.

Dean smiled at the remembered conversation. He was still worried about Cas, but he’d packed enough weapons and ammo to take down a small army, raiding Bobby’s supply. They were about a day out from Fort Garland, and so far the summer weather was holding out for them. Cas was a better rider than Dean had expected. He and his palomino, Grace, seemed to have an instant connection. Astride his own mount, a beautiful black thoroughbred mare named Baby, Dean struggled to get himself into a position that took pressure off his leg but didn’t put it onto his ass which was unaccustomed to riding after the bed rest. 

Cas pulled Grace to a halt; the pack mule, Dusty, he was leading started to search for grass near the trail. Baby stopped and threw her head around. “Do we need to stop, Dean?” Cas asked, observing Dean’s squirming.  
Dean stifled a grunt, “‘m fine.”   
“Dean,” Cas said, putting his ‘doctor’ voice on that meant he refused to take no for an answer.   
“Alright, alright,” he replied. “Let’s find a place to make camp.”

*****

Two days later, they’d met up with Sam and Bobby at what passed for an inn in the tiny village of Fort Garland. They sat around a table in the tavern’s common room, maps spread out between them, debating the best strategy to ambush Alistair and his gang. 

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t just ride out there. I mean we have the element of surprise and I brought dynamite. I say we blow ‘em all to hell,” Dean said.  
“Dean--this is how you ended up like this, remember?” Sam asked, gesturing at Dean’s bad leg, propped up on an empty chair near him. Dean could hear the exasperation in his voice.  
“But, Sam, maybe you didn’t hear me - I. Have. Dynamite,” he reiterated, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows.  
Bobby rolled his eyes. “The warrant says, ‘dead or alive,’ not blown to smithereens, ya idjit.”  
“Fine,” Dean said, pouting. He knew that the warrant would require proof of death they’d be unable to attain if Alistair and crew were in tiny pieces. But oh how he wanted to forego the constraints of the law on this one.   
Cas looked up from the map he’d been studying. “According to this map and Sam and Bobby’s reconnaissance, this area is a dry river bed leading into a bottleneck canyon,” he said pointing to an area on the map.   
Sam nodded. “That’s right.”  
“What if we destroy the dam up river and flood the bed?” Cas asked. “With help, we could flank Alistair and drive them into the canyon,” he continued. “We could position sharpshooters around the rim of the canyon here - and here,” Cas said touching areas on the map, “and there’d be no escape,” Cas finished.  
Dean looked from Cas to Sam to Bobby.  
“That - that could work,” Sam said, looking up from the map.  
“Good job, Doc,” said Bobby.  
Dean smiled and slapped Cas roughly on the back. “Good thing we have this brilliant strategic mind on our side!” He watched a blush creep up Cas’s cheeks and he knew from experience that same blush ran down his chest. Dean shifted in his seat, now was not the time, Winchester, he chided himself.   
“Looks like I get to use that dynamite after all,” he said, smirking.  
Sam rolled his eyes.

*****

Dean and Sam decided to check the horses before settling in for the night. The walk to the stables and time grooming and feeding the horses gave them a chance to catch up. 

“So, you and the doc…” Sam said on their walk back from the stables, glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.  
“That obvious?” Dean asked. He knew Sam knew he liked both men and women, but he still cared about his brother’s opinion.  
“Dean - you eyeballed him all through dinner and he blushed every time you looked at him,” Sam said, smiling.  
Dean shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say, Sammy, the heart wants what the heart wants.”  
“The heart?” Sam snorted. “Are you sure that’s the part you’re thinking with?” he teased.  
Dean punched his brother lightly on the shoulder. Sam mock-overreacted “Ouch, Jerk!”  
“Bitch,” Dean retorted. He slowed his pace. “Cas is -” Dean started, “...different.”  
Sam stopped to look at Dean. “Oh oh.” His eyes went soft and he smirked.  
“No,” Dean said, “don’t give me that look.”  
“You’re completely gone on him, aren’t you?” Sam asked, softly.  
Dean looked down and kicked at something invisible on the dirt path. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded once.  
Sam clapped him on the back. “I’m happy for you, Dean. He’s a good one.”  
Dean met his brother’s eyes. “You think so?” he asked.  
“Well, he must the patience of a saint to put up with the likes of you.”  
“Shut up, Sammy!” Dean laughed and mock punched his brother in the stomach. They half hugged and Sam released Dean. They walked the rest of the way back to the inn in comfortable silence.

*****

Dean tossed and turned in his small bed. He should be sleeping. They had a few more long days of riding before they were ready to enact Cas’s plan. Plus they had to recruit a few deputies or bounty hunters tomorrow. He didn’t anticipate that would be a problem, though. Sam and Bobby had been scouting while waiting for them.

He couldn’t sleep without Cas by his side, he realized. Dean had grown used to the way Cas wrapped himself around him, burrowing into his chest so that Dean could fall asleep to the sound of his breathing evening out, Cas’s scent thick in his nostrils. They’d been so tired on the road they hadn’t managed more than a touch here and there, falling asleep the instant their heads hit the bedroll. 

Screw it, he thought and got out of bed as quietly as possible. Wearing only his shirt, Dean snuck out of his room toward Cas’s. Thank God his room was at the end of the hall across from Dean’s. Despite his still healing leg, Dean was quiet when he wanted to be. Years of hunting to help feed himself and Sam and years of tracking down outlaws had taught him that. 

Dean reached Cas’s room and twisted the doorknob. To his surprise, he found it open. Damn it, he’d have to warn Cas about that. You couldn’t trust people. Dean crept toward the bed and the prone figure on it. Before he knew what hit him, someone had pinned both his arms behind his back and there was a knife at his throat. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean swore quietly.   
“Dean?” Cas asked.  
“Cas! Let me go, man,” Dean hissed. Cas complied, dropping his hand holding the knife and releasing his arms. “What the hell, Cas?” Dean whispered.  
Dean saw Cas’s outline shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I heard someone in the hall. I assumed someone was coming to rob me.”  
Dean grunted. He nodded at the pillows on Cas’s bed. “Nice trick.”   
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas whispered back. “What are you doing here?”  
“I couldn’t sleep either. I missed you,” Dean said. He moved to embrace Cas. He nuzzled his nose into Cas’s neck and breathed him in. They’d taken advantage of the free baths the hotel offered with room rental. Cas smelled amazing - like himself but with a hint of sandalwood and sweetgrass. Cas gasped as Dean tasted him to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. He did. Dean was instantly hard.

Cas pushed him back with his free hand. “Dean, we can’t,” he hissed. “Not here.”  
Dean covered his hand with his own. “I can be quiet,” he said.  
Cas rolled his eyes so hard Dean swore he heard it. “I doubt that very much, Dean.”   
“Try me,” he said, hoping Cas could hear his smirk if he couldn’t see it.  
“What if they heard us just now?” Cas asked. “You know what they’d do to us.”  
“I’d like to see them try,” Dean said flatly. “C’mon, Cas, for all we know this could be our last night on this earth.”  
“Really, Dean?” Cas said. It was amazing he could work a deadpan into a whispered sentence. “The ‘last night on earth’ line? Besides, that’s true of every night.”  
Dean moved his hand to cup Cas’s face. “Please, Cas,” he whispered against Cas’s lips. “I need you.”  
Cas sighed and Dean knew he’d won. He pressed forward to kiss Cas, threading his hand through Cas’s soft hair. Cas opened to him, reaching to grasp Dean by the hip with his free hand as their kiss became heated. Dean took the knife from Cas’s other hand. He pulled back to set it gently on the sideboard. Dean slid his hand down from where it was cradling Cas’s head to grasp his hand and lead him to the bed in the dark.

*****

Afterwards, Dean lay on his side facing Cas. He ran his hand up and down Cas’s side from his shoulder to his hip and back up again. His skin was so soft after the bath, Dean couldn’t stop touching him. He trailed his fingertips up to Cas’s cheekbone and down the bridge of his nose, to his lips and down his chin. Cas breathed softly. Dean knew Cas’d be drifting off to sleep soon and he also knew he needed to leave before he fell asleep himself. But he didn’t want to go. Dean rolled onto his back and threw an arm behind his head; he couldn’t stop thinking about what the next few days would bring.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Cas asked, pushing himself up on his elbow.  
Dean inhaled. “I’m scared, Cas,” he said quietly.  
“You’d be crazy not to be scared, Dean,” Cas reassured.  
“No - I mean. I’m -” he turned to face Cas. “I can’t lose you, Cas,” he said.  
Cas pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You won’t lose me. I’ll be up near the snipers, like we planned.”  
Dean shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “Alistair is a sadistic bastard. He finds someone’s weakness and he exploits it.” He rolled back to look at the ceiling.  
“Sam,” Cas said softly.  
Dean nodded in the dark. “Three months back Sam and I caught a lead on Alistair and his gang from another lowlife we’d pinched. Bobby told us to wait for him and he’d bring backup, but I - well I couldn’t wait, Cas. Not with the chance of finally catching him. God I was stupid.”  
Cas touched his shoulder gently.  
Dean gulped and continued. “We rode into his camp, guns blazing, confident we’d get them. But they were ready for us. Alistair had heard we were tracking him and sent the outlaw we pinched to bait us. It was a trap. They caught Sam. But Alistair - he wanted me, Cas. I don’t know why, exactly. I think because he didn’t get to kill me all those years ago and we’d made his life hard thwarting his plans, cutting off his access to his weapons supplier and stealing his extorted booty when we could.”  
Cas looked at Dean. “I had no idea you were so...resourceful.”  
Dean snorted. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘unlawful,’ Cas. Alistair promised to let Sam go if I traded myself for him.” Dean shrugged. “I didn’t think about it.”  
“You’re a good brother, Dean,” Cas said.  
“He let Sam go,” Dean continued. “But the minute he had me tied up, he sent one of his goons after Sam to kill him. Thank God Sam outran him and then managed to get the jump on him. I almost got my brother killed, Cas. I swore to protect that kid and I didn’t Cas. I didn’t.” Dean didn’t realize he was crying until he felt wetness on his cheeks.  
“It’s not your fault Dean,” Cas said, his hand turning Dean’s face toward him. Cas waited. “What happened to your leg, Dean?” Cas asked finally.  
“Alistair - he - he chained me up for two days in the sun. No food, no water. Just chained there waiting to die. He decided he’d teach me a lesson by hobbling me. He had his second in command Hannity hold me down and he...he drove a wagon over my leg,” Dean finished. He breathed deeply in and out trying to calm down his panic at the memory of being so helpless and broken. “Alistair was getting ready for more ‘games’ as he called them when Sam and Bobby surrounded us with back up. Sam’s a damn good shot, Cas. I knew he’d be able to hit Hannity if I weren’t in the way. I nodded at him and he knew. He shot, straight and clean through my shoulder. He shot that fucker right in the cock,” Dean smiled viciously. “I kinda passed out after that,” he said, “and I woke up in your office.”   
“How did Alistair get away?” Cas asked.  
“Took advantage of the confusion while Sam and Bobby were trying to get to me, I guess.” Dean yawned. He’d calmed down and was glad he’d finally been able to tell Cas what happened.   
“Dean-” Cas said.  
“Yeah, Cas?”  
“We’re gonna get him. It’s a good plan.”  
Dean nodded. “Thanks, Cas. I’d better get back before I pass out.”  
Cas kissed him once more. “Good night, Dean.”  
Dean got up and tiptoed to the door. “Good night, Cas,” he whispered. 

*****


	7. With Guns Blazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel blows the dam. Dean, Sam, and Bobby trap Alistair and his men in the canyon. But all does not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of violence.

Chapter 7: With Guns Blazing 

The sun beat down brutally as Castiel stood alone on the ridge above the dam. The task of igniting the dynamite had fallen to him. Castiel checked his pocket watch: a quarter of eleven. He was to push the plunger down on the blasting box, igniting the dynamite and blowing the dam on the top of the hour. Dean, Bobby, Sam, and some of the backup men they’d recruited would drive Alistair and his men from their camp into the bottlenecked canyon at high noon. By that time the dry bed would have flooded, cutting them off and trapping them. Ryan and MacLain, two of their new deputies and the best long-range shots, were already in position around the rim of the canyon. 

Castiel breathed deeply and tried not to think about what could go wrong. He refused to take up arms, even to aid Dean, and he wondered for the millionth time if volunteering to blow the dam violated the oaths he’d made to himself. Too late now, he thought, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He glanced over to where Grace waited, hitched to a slim sapling. She sensed the tension in the air and tossed her head, nickering lowly. After the detonation, Castiel would ride hard to Ryan’s position along the west side of the Canyon rim. “Shh...easy girl,” Castiel soothed her and ran his hand down her neck. She calmed a bit at his touch but her eyes were wide and she scented the air continuously. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of MacLain’s mirror. The signal! He thought. He moved back to the blaster box and checked his watch. It was time. Castiel held his breath and depressed the plunger, pushing down with both hands and all his weight. He counted the seconds backwards from 15 - 15, 14, 13...3, 2, 1. Castiel felt the blast before he heard it. He scrambled for Grace’s reigns as the ground trembled beneath them. She panicked but Castiel moved faster than he thought himself capable of and vaulted onto her back. Castiel looked back and saw the water start spilling over the crack they’d blown in the rock dam. He barely touched Grace with his heels and she was off. He leaned forward and held on for dear life as he raced to the western rim of the canyon.

*****

At first, all Castiel could see was a cloud of dust coming from the north side of the canyon. He stood a few yards behind Ryan on his right, partially covered by brush. Castiel remained quiet, not even notifying him of his presence, so as not to disrupt Ryan’s attention. Ryan, for his part, lay on his belly, watching the dust cloud through the scope on his rifle. Castiel watched as three riders emerged first from the dust cloud, riding for the south side of the canyon, whipping their mounts into a frenzy. He smirked to himself. They’d be getting a nasty surprise when they hit the newly flooded river.

And then he saw Dean. Astride Baby who was running full out, Dean led the other men by several lengths, one hand gripping the saddle horn and the other extended, his six shooter pointed with deadly accuracy. Dean shifted his weight to Baby’s side and shot down one of Alistair’s men. Castiel watched as one of the riders, Alistair, he assumed, pulled his mount up and turned to face Dean. Alistair halted his mount and aimed his gun straight up, firing a round into the air. Castiel couldn’t make out Alistair’s face from his position but he knew something was very wrong. He watched as dozens of armed men flooded out from where they must have been hiding near the north end of the canyon. They cut Dean off from Sam, Bobby, and the rest of his men. 

“No!” Castiel shouted desperately, emerging from his hiding place. He watched helplessly as Alistair and his man faced Dean. And then Ryan was up and coming for him, swinging his rifle around to bear on Castiel. He ducked to the side, diving back into the foliage as Ryan fired a round, missing Castiel. “Traitor!” Castiel hissed between clenched teeth. Ryan turned to fire another shot at him, but Castiel was faster. He leapt from his hiding place, landing on Ryan and tackling him to the ground. He wrenched the rifle from Ryan’s grip and tossed it to the side. Castiel watched as his hands wrapped themselves around Ryan’s throat. He felt nothing but rage as he pushed down and crushed the man’s larynx, holding him in an iron grip until his face turned purple and he stopped breathing. 

Castiel got up and looked back down at the scene unfolding in the canyon. Alistar and his man pointed their guns at Dean who in turn kept his trained on Alistair. It was hopeless. If Dean shot Alistair, his man would not hesitate to shoot Dean. Castiel could imagine Dean wrestling with the choice to sacrifice himself. He knew what Dean would do. 

With a singularity of purpose he had not felt in some time, Castiel retrieved Ryan’s rifle from where he’d tossed it. He returned to the dead man and stripped the ammo belt from his waist. He loaded the rifle and cocked it smoothly; his muscles remembering how. Time seemed to slow as Castiel lay down on his belly and looked through the scope on the rifle. He could see Dean slowly move his thumb to cock the hammer of his gun. Castiel drew in a deep breath. He aimed the rifle at Alistair’s head. He exhaled, his finger squeezing the trigger. He registered seeing Alistair’s head snap back and his body fall from his horse, but he was already sighting and aiming at the other man. He shot the other man in the head as Dean put two quick bullets in his torso. 

Dean looked up and waved his hat toward the north end of the canyon where the rest of Alistair’s men were engaged a shoot out with Sam and Bobby and the other men. Castiel understood Dean meant he should cover him from above as he rode to their aid. He assumed MacLain had already moved north because he could see someone picking them off one by one from the east as they tried to hold off Sam and Bobby. Castiel ran along the ridge, covering Dean as he brought Baby about and galloped toward the fray. 

It was over in moments after that. Sandwiched between Dean and Sam and Bobby and pestered from above by Castiel and MacLain, the bulk of Alistair’s men died quickly. Those remaining realized it was over and threw down their arms. They’d take their chances with a judge, Castiel supposed. 

He felt the adrenaline rush out of his body. Castiel sank to his knees, the rifle still in his hand. He saw Dean turn from tying an outlaw’s hands to look up at him. His smile was a fierce thing to behold, a flash of white teeth in a face masked in dirt and blood. The full realization of what he’d done slammed into Castiel’s consciousness. His hands trembled and he dropped the rifle. He doubled over and retched onto the grass. What had he done, he thought over and over, dear God, what had he done? 

*****


	8. For Reasons Wretched and Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean cares for Cas after his breakdown. We learn Cas's backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This was a tough one, folks. It's a difficult chapter and I feel bad for doing this to the characters. 
> 
> Warnings for severe mental and physical health issues and lots of angsty pain.
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from a lyric in the Hozier song "Jackie and Wilson." 
> 
> P.S. There's an epilogue coming that should make you smile. I feel like the guys deserve it.

Chapter 8: For Reasons Wretched and Divine

Dean rode up the ridge to Cas and saw him lying prone. “Cas!” Dean shouted, “Are you hurt?!” He dismounted Baby and ran to Cas. His beautiful blue eyes stared blankly ahead and vomit trailed from his mouth to puddle in the dirt. Dean couldn’t see any sign of injury. He bent and looked Cas over.

“Cas,” he said, gripping and shaking him by the shoulders. Cas did not look at Dean or respond. Dean felt his pulse and ran his hands over him to check for any wounds he couldn’t see. Nothing. Cas was breathing; he appeared uninjured but he was just - gone somehow. Dean felt panic well up in his chest. He pulled Cas onto his lap and cradled him in his arms. Dean could feel Cas’s heart beating; he could feel him breathe, but his Cas, the Cas he loved, was locked away somewhere inside himself. Cas lay there limply, seemingly unaware of Dean holding him.

A few moments later, Dean heard Sam walk up behind them. “Is he all right?” Sam asked. Dean turned and looked at his brother. Sam held his hat in his hands, the concerned expression on his face knitting his eyebrows together.  
“No,” Dean said, a single tear slipping from his eye. “He saved my life, Sam,” he said. “He saved my life and it cost him his soul,” Dean finished.

*****

A week later they returned to Dodge City. Sam and Bobby had brought Alistair and his men - both living and dead, in for their bounties. Dean took over caring for Cas full-time. It was exhausting. The doctor he’d sought out at Fort Garland pronounced Cas ‘catatonic’ but otherwise in good health. Dean snorted at the memory. ‘Otherwise in good health,’ so that’s how you describe a man who’s a former shell of himself, a man whose mind has vacated the premises but his body refuses to die, Dean thought. 

Dean spent his days trying to get enough food and water into Cas to keep him alive. Cas would swallow soup or water if he were hungry or thirsty enough and if Dean poured it into his mouth with a funnel. Dean took pains to move his body, rolling Cas from one side to the other of his small bed. He remembered the arm circles Cas made him do after he’d been shot, and he went through similar routines with each of Cas’s limbs several times a day, moving them for him. In the evenings he would bathe Cas as best he could and lie down on the cot he’d set up for himself next to Cas’s bed. He didn’t sleep much; he just lay awake in the dark, waiting. Because nights were the only time he heard Cas speak. Dean hated that he had come to love Cas’s nightmares because often Cas would cry out for him. Cas would wake most nights, screaming in terror and calling for Dean. Dean would get up and soothe him, gently waking him. They’d get a moment of clarity and then Cas would shut back down, folding himself back in again. 

During the afternoons, Dean sat Cas in a chair by the window and read to him from his favorite books. He even found the book of Whitman poetry Cas loved so much he’d practically worn a hole in the cover. He read, his voice breaking: 

“O camerado close! O you and me at last, and us two only.  
O a word to clear one's path ahead endlessly!  
O something ecstatic and undemonstrable! O music wild!  
O now I triumph—and you shall also;  
O hand in hand—O wholesome pleasure—O one more desirer and lover!  
O to haste firm holding—to haste, haste on with me.”

Dean closed the book and hung his head. Alistair was dead, his gang busted up. Sam was safe. He had everything he thought he wanted. Everything except Cas. 

*****

“He’s losing a lot of weight, Dean,” Sam said as Dean watched the sun set through the window in Cas’s apartment. Dean sighed. He knew; Cas’s body was frail, skin and bones, and Dean could now count every rib when he bathed him. The days were getting shorter, autumn had brought cooler temperatures but Dean worried about winter and whether Cas would be able to survive it in his state.   
“Maybe-,” Sam cleared his throat, “maybe it’s time to consider Doc Galverson’s suggestion...the sanitarium in Glenwood Springs?”  
Dean turned to glare at his brother. “Not gonna happen, Sam.”  
“But Dean -”  
“No,” Dean said.   
Sam stepped into Dean’s space. “Dean. He’s dying,” he said quietly.  
Dean fell back into his chair. He rubbed his hand over his face. “I know,” he said. He looked up at Sam, meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to lose him, Sam, but I don’t know what to do.”  
Dean watched Sam swallow. “Have you tried--have you tried reading his journals?”  
Dean looked up sharply. “Of course not!”   
“Maybe you should,” he continued. “I mean - we read to him, right, and we know he hears it. Maybe if he heard you reading them, he’d wake up. I mean,” Sam ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck, “he might wake up and never want to talk to you again.” Sam dropped his hand and shrugged. “But at least he’d be - well, he’d be Cas.”  
Dean leaned back and looked at Sam, considering his words. He was ready to argue; he knew how private Cas could be - had been. But then again, he was also desperate enough to try it.  
Dean nodded. “Alright, Sammy. I’ll try it,” Dean said. “I’ll try it and if he doesn’t react by next week, I’ll send word to Doc Galverson and we’ll ride for Colorado.”

*****

That night, after he’d settled Cas into bed, Dean started reading Cas’s journals. They dated back to 1858 - Cas’s first year of medical school at Georgetown. Dean smiled reading 20 year-old Cas’s reactions to the trials of medical school and the bullying behavior of his professors and upperclassmen. Dean read between the lines of Cas’s blocky, uniform script to pick out details of his first love. Cas didn’t explicitly address the nature of his relationship with a classmate called ‘Alan,’ but Dean knew with Cas’s description of how irritating Alan was that Cas had feelings for him. The two men vied for top of the class, trading places term to term. By their graduation in late 1860, Cas earning the top spot and Alan second in the class, Cas made plans to open a practice in D.C. after his residency, near the hospital where Alan planned to work. Cas wrote optimistically about their futures. 

And then the war broke out and everything went to hell. Cas returned home to Boston; Alan to Georgia. Cas enlisted the next day. Dean couldn’t stop reading even though the light in the lamp burned low, slowly running out of kerosine. The only reference to Alan after Cas enlisted were a few simple lines of poetry Cas had scrawled on a page dated April 25, 1861. 

“They know not I knew thee,  
Who knew thee too well:—   
Long, long shall I rue thee  
Too deeply to tell.” - Lord Byron 

The lamp sputtered and died as Dean finished the final volume covering Cas’s war career. The volume ended with a single sentence: “I will never kill again.” Dean sighed and closed the book having dog eared some of the passages to read to Cas. Tears slid down his cheeks; he now knew why Cas was the way he was. And he feared the only way to get him back was to drag him back through hell again.

*****

Two nights later, Dean readied himself for the difficult task of trying to break through to Cas. When Cas screamed during his nightmares, Dean gently shook him awake. Their eyes met and Dean said simply, “I know, Cas.” Cas recoiled in shock, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping.   
“What?!” Cas asked. It was the first word he’d spoken directly to Dean in over a month.   
“I know about Alan, Cas,” Dean said again, holding his gaze. Cas gasped for air and remained lucid for the better part of a minute, although he didn’t speak again. “I’m sorry, Cas,” he said. And then Cas shut down, folding back in on himself. 

*****

During the day, Dean read aloud to Cas from his journals. Every night, Dean continued trying to catch Cas during his moment of lucidity. Dean told him he knew; he told him he was sorry; and he told him that what happened to Alan was not his fault. Cas’s reactions to Dean ranged from blank stares to yelling to occasionally beating his fists feebly against Dean’s chest. Inevitably, Cas would sob - not crying, not even weeping, but full-body sobbing that wracked his weak frame with its force. Dean would gather him in his arms and hold him until he calmed down enough to pass into exhausted sleep. 

Cas’s periods of lucidity gradually increased. He was not himself yet but he had worked up to a few sentences and twenty minutes of awareness. Most often those sentences were “Go away, Dean. Leave me to die.”   
“I ain’t gonna quit on you, Cas,” Dean would say when he turned away from him. 

He tried to be patient, he really did. But one night Dean finally snapped. After one of Cas’s iterations of “Go away, Dean,” he got right in Cas’s face.  
“I won’t go away Cas,” he yelled, “but you’re killing me too. You think you’re the only one who’s screwed up?! You think you’re the only one to live with guilt?!” he roared. “Stop being so selfish, Cas,” Dean said, “we all have our demons.”   
Cas glared back at him. “Selfish?” he asked, his voice a whisper.  
“Yes, Cas - you’re being a selfish prick,” he yelled. “So you screwed up. Punishing yourself isn’t going to bring Alan back, Cas. It won’t change what you did. But you can try to do some good with the time you have, Cas. That’s all any of us can do.”  
Cas looked at Dean, meeting his eyes and tilted his head to the side, considering.   
“This town needs you, Cas. We need you, Cas. I need you, Cas,” Dean continued his voice breaking. He fell to his knees and cried, covering his face in his hands.  
“You’re right, Dean,” Cas said, quietly.   
Dean looked up, sharply. Cas nodded once and turned away from Dean to lie back down.

*****

Cas came back to himself, and to Dean, one tiny step at a time. He remained quiet but he started caring for himself and the periods where he locked himself away grew shorter and less frequent. Dean refused to leave Cas alone but he started helping Bobby and doing his job again, trusting Sam to watch over Cas. One night after they’d eaten supper and Sam had gone home, Cas brought one of his journals back to the table.

“Dean, please sit down,” he said. “I need to read this and I need you to listen.”  
“You don’t need to do that, Cas-” Dean started.  
“No, Dean, I need to do this,” he said. He sighed and started reading aloud.

“March 30, 1863.   
In medical school they try to prepare you for the certainty that you will lose a patient. Doctors are notorious for gallows humor and other strange coping mechanisms. Death is our ever-present enemy and we fight him constantly and vigilantly guarding ourselves with knowledge and medicine like a medieval knight bore shield and sword. But in war...in war Death is not our enemy but our constant companion. We court him with our actions, our decisions. Unlike the knight, we are armor-less, defenseless before him.

What I do is less doctoring and more butchery. I’ve amputated more limbs from young men than I can count. Sometimes they survive; often they do not. 

Then there are the long times of waiting between battles. These are the worst. The times when all we can do is wait for the horror to come to us. We play cards and sometimes practice our marksmanship. I’m actually a good shot. I can hit a playing card dead center at 100 paces and I’m a fast draw - one of the fastest the soldiers say they’ve seen. As doctors, we’re rarely in the field, but the sergeant insists that I carry a revolver for those times when I have to help the combat medics retrieve injured men. Sometimes the enemy tries to ambush us when we assess the injured.”

Cas paused and cleared his throat. He flipped to an entry toward the back of the journal.

“May 1st, 1865.   
I didn’t know. Oh God, I didn’t know it was him. God forgive me. Alan - forgive me. 

I was in the field after the battle, doing Death’s calculus - trying to help the medics assess who we could save and who we had to abandon. He came up behind me. I drew my sidearm and shot before I even looked. Oh God. 

I am become Death and I am damned for all eternity.”

Cas closed the journal. “After that, well - I ran, Dean. I tried to outrun his ghost and I tried to drown it in whiskey. I am a Goddamned coward, Dean,” he finished.  
Dean moved to him and took Cas’s hands in his. “Cas - you saved me. More than that you probably saved this whole damned wicked town by taking that bastard out. He wasn’t going to stop doing what he done to our family, Cas. Think about how many families you saved from my fate.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I love you, Cas.”   
Cas met his eyes. “How?” he asked his eyes full of tears.  
“What do you mean?”   
“How, Dean? How can you love me? I’m a monster. What if I hurt you too, Dean?”  
“You won’t hurt me, Cas. You saved me. You saved me twice and a million times over, Cas. You’re not a monster, Cas - you’re my angel. I trust you and I forgive you, Cas. Alan would forgive you too,” Dean answered. He leaned forward and brushed a hand over Cas’s cheek. He kissed him, gently.   
Cas gasped, the tears spilling from his eyes as he returned the kiss.   
Dean held Cas as he sobbed, letting him grieve finally for his lost love. 

*****


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas get (unofficially) married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the happy ending, folks. Thanks for reading!

Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot. He straightened his bow tie for the millionth time. He kicked at the wildflowers and prairie grass that blanketed the meadow. Sam elbowed him. 

“Ouch!” Dean exclaimed. “What was that for?!”   
“Stop fidgeting,” Sam admonished.  
“What the hell is taking so long?!” Dean demanded.  
“Dean - look,” Sam said.

Dean turned to look at the copse of trees that decorated the southeast side of the meadow. Cas and Bobby walked through together, their boots silent on the soft grass. Bobby cleaned up pretty good, he thought. His hair was slicked down and it looked like he’d had his beard trimmed. Then Dean saw Cas. He wore a blue suit two shades darker than his eyes. His blue bow tie was crooked and tied wrong. When he met Dean’s eyes, the blush on his cheeks with the color of his suit just made his beautiful eyes stand out more. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Cas looked down at his hands and Dean noticed he carried a bouquet of wildflowers. 

Cas walked slowly up to Dean and stopped next to him. “Hello, Dean,” he said quietly.  
“Really, Cas? Flowers?” he asked.   
Cas rolled his eyes. “It IS a wedding, Dean. Flowers are customary, I believe.”  
“For the bride,” Dean whisper-hissed. “Last time I checked, you weren’t no virgin bride.”  
Cas looked down, blushing.  
“But you blush like one,” Dean said, lifting Cas’s chin to meet his gaze. He smirked.  
“Damn you, Dean Winchester,” Cas said, but his voice was soft and his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

Bobby cleared his throat. He took the book he’d been carrying under one arm and opened it.   
“If you two are done,” he glowered at Dean,”we’ll get this thing started.”

Dean didn’t pay attention to much of what Bobby said. He mind wandered off in anticipation of what was to come. After a meal provided by Ellen and Jo of Harvelle’s, Dean was looking forward to carrying Cas over the threshold of the cabin they’d been building on the north side of the meadow. And then he was looking forward to breaking in the bed he’d made Cas as a wedding present. 

“Dean - DEAN!” Bobby was saying.  
“What?” Dean snapped, coming out of his reverie.   
“The ring, Dean,” Sam said and handed him the simple gold band.  
Dean took it and turned to Cas, sliding the ring onto his finger. He gulped. He’d spent hours writing and memorizing his vows. He forgot everything the minute he locked eyes with Cas.

“Cas, I-” he started. “Until I met you Cas, I didn’t know how broken I was. It was like a piece of me was missing and no matter what I did or where I looked, I couldn’t find it. And then I met you and now - now I finally know what it’s like to feel whole. I love you, Cas. I’ll always love you and I’ll do my damnedest to make you happy, if you’ll let me,” he finished. He gulped, hoping Cas wouldn’t be so angry at his piss-poor attempt at vows that he walked off right then and there.

“Dean,” Cas started, his voice quiet. “You are a very bad patient,” Dean smirked and Sam and Bobby laughed softly. “You didn’t follow your doctor’s orders, you challenged everything I did, and worst of all, you did what patients are not supposed to do - YOU healed me. You loved me when I thought myself unloveable. You pulled me from the dark depths of my worst nightmare and you stood by me through it all. You aren’t just a part of my soul, Dean, you are my soul. I love you.”

Dean had stopped breathing. He’d expected poetry or something flowery from Cas given his reading preferences. Instead he got Cas’s raw, honest feelings. It was perfect.

Bobby cleared his throat again. “Well,” he said, “I reckon that about wraps things up. By the power vested in me as sheriff of this town - even though it ain’t official, you know, for some bassackwards reason,” he grumbled, “I now pronounce you ‘idjit’ and ‘idjit.’ You may kiss the ‘idjit.’” he concluded. 

Dean turned to Cas kissed him, cupping his cheek. “Let’s go home, Cas,” he said.  
Cas kissed him back and laced his fingers with Dean’s. “I am home, Dean.”

*****


End file.
